


The Art of Courtship

by LightNephilim



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Byleth is doing her best, F/M, Ft. All Members of the Blue Lions and Claude, and Dimitri is socially inept, and Sylvain causes shenanigans to ensue, and everyone else is a lil’ older, but Byleth is a lil’ younger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightNephilim/pseuds/LightNephilim
Summary: Sylvain tipped his head, mouth quirked into a wry smile. “What about you? I wanna see you with a girl on your arm.”After a long moment, Dimitri sighed. “I am a man of my word. I will... attempt to do as you ask.”Sylvain slung an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders and pointed across the garden, eyes locked on a certain blue-haired figure.“How about Miss Teach?” he said brightly, clapping Dimitri on the back.Dimitri choked.—————————(or Sylvain’s support conversation with Dimitri goes in an unexpected direction)





	1. Chapter 1

Byleth leans back against her bed’s headboard, knees drawn up under her chin, long-sleeved coat draped carelessly over her bare feet. She stares unseeingly at the wall.

Beyond the window at her back, the monastery sky is the color of a faded bruise. Byleth feels the sunset’s absence as an exhausting press on her already sour mood.

The lesson hadn’t gone well today. Not by any standards—least of all her own. 

She had gotten carried away. Again. Byleth was used to doling out blunt corrections to hardened soldiers, not cradling, not supporting, _ definitely _ not consoling. 

It happened when Annette called her over during independent study and jabbed a finger into her messy, doodle-filled notebook. 

“This is right, isn’t it? I took what you said, Professor, about the differences between White and Dark magic—“ Annette quickly turned the journal 90 degrees, “—and I worked out two diagrams: one for each of the spell-casting symbols.” 

Annette leaned closer as she rambled, voice trembling with excitement.

“Look, see all my labels? It was actually really simple to find differences once I worked out the basic shapes.”

Byleth was already scanning the drawings long before Annette finished speaking, silent with concentration. Then, after a moment, said, “You’re missing a major axis of regeneration from your White magic symbol.” 

Byleth paused, eyes still on the page, and touched a section of scribbled text. “And here, your comparative label. You need to talk about the effect on the castor herself. Remember, even though magic is guided by rules, the _ emotion _ is what ultimately…”

She looked up at Annette. The orange-haired girl had her hands folded, her gaze cast toward the floor. All at once, Byleth remembered where she was.

“It’s a start, a good start,” Byleth added. The stammered words came out reflexively, drawn out by Annette’s crumpled expression. Realizing how insufficient the praise was, she added, “Very good! I’m eager to see more!” Byleth winced internally, but kept her face shrouded with a bright smile.

Too late. Byleth could feel the wall go up between them; she saw the hesitance in Annette’s slow, sad smile. “It’s okay, Professor. I shouldn’t have expected to get it right on my first try.” 

As Byleth stood, clumsily retreating, the orange-haired girl let her face fall into the pile of open books.

From the row behind, Felix watched with his head leaned against his hand, dark hair spilling through his fingers, expression caught between sharp judgement and utter boredom. His book on sword maintenance dangled limply from the edge of the table, long since discarded.

The look in his eyes had been almost verbal: “Really? I’m supposed to be taught by the likes of you?”

Just awful.

_ Would you stop with your whole self-pity routine? I’m developing a terrible headache. _

Sothis drifts from the edge of the bedroom, placing her small, pale hands on top of Byleth’s knees. She tucks her chin over her hands, green eyes burning brightly in the room’s half-darkness.

_ For a renowned mercenary, you certainly lack a certain degree of… mental resilience, _ Sothis says, voice filling Byleth’s head. _ You’ve never taught a class before, so what? There was a time when you’d never swung a sword before, too. _

Byleth rolls her eyes, sitting up slightly.

“That an unfair analogy. For one, Jeralt would’ve never sent me out on the battlefield before I had the ability to succeed. Clearly, Lady Rhea doesn’t possess the same discretion.”

Sothis sighs. _ Are you so sure— _

“_ And furthermore _,” Byleth continues, “When I trained with Jeralt, I never had to worry about being liked—” She puts up a finger. “—or being kind.” She puts up another. “Two categories which I happen to absolutely fail in.” Byleth stick the two fingers in Sothis’s face.

_ Stop that. _ Sothis scrunches up her nose, floating back towards the wall again. _ I can’t believe I have to be the one to say this, but… it’s very clear that the students like you. Or at least, they are inclined to. _

_ “ _Felix?”

_I should say, most are inclined. These “children” are scarcely three years younger than yourself. If you just tried to make a friend or two,_ _I’m certain that these foolish doubts of yours would vanish._

Immediately, Byleth feels a knot of worry form in her stomach. “Friends?” Images of the encounter with Annette rip through her head.

Sothis clicks her tongue disapprovingly. _ Obviously, Annette won’t be an easy connection for you. Perhaps after you’ve had a bit more practice. No, you need someone much more hard-headed. Someone… _

Another face appears in her mind, and Byleth isn’t sure if she or Sothis put it there.

Blue eyes narrowed with concentration, blond hair falling neatly yet carelessly across his face, training lance in hand. Fingers splayed over the face of the desk, eyebrows furrowed, gaze fixed on the board. Dimitri. 

_ Yes, him. _

“That’s not happening.”

On her first day in the classroom, Byleth had nearly run away. Eight students were staring, and the room was _ so damn hot. _She clutched the edges of the podium with shuddering hands. Her mind was completely, utterly blank. 

“Excuse me, Professor,” Dimitri had said, raising his hand neatly in the air. He was the only one whose name she remembered.

“Yes, Dimitri?”

“If you don’t yet know the proper procedure for lectures, I can tell you all that I know. If that’s… agreeable to you, of course.” His voice quieted near the end, becoming hesitant. She wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or thankful.

“Yes, that would be very gracious,” Byleth said. “Thank you, Dimitri.” 

He had nodded curtly, lowered his hand, and began to explain.

_ He was quite helpful to you, wasn’t he? _ Sothis asks. _ He almost reminds me of myself, if he wasn’t such a big oaf. Surely he wouldn’t be a bad friend to have around. _

Byleth, feeling altogether uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, turns pointedly toward the wall. 

_ In addition, I know you’ve been searching for a reason to watch him train. If you were friends, then there wouldn’t be a problem. _

“Sothis!” Byleth whips toward her.

_ What? You were thinking about it just the other day. _

“Yes, but— but, my intentions— It was in preparation for our upcoming lance unit!” Byleth says, frustration mixing up her words. “If you had been eavesdropping on my thoughts properly, you would’ve heard how it’s important to observe an experienced weapon wielder—“ 

A knock echoes through the bedroom, silencing Byleth’s outburst. Byleth looks over at Sothis with wide eyes. Sothis shrugs.

Another knock, firmer this time.

“Pardon me, Professor. I realize how utterly intrusive I’m being.” 

The voice, undeniably belonging to a certain blond-haired prince, filters through the door. Byleth scrambles to her feet, alarm bells going off in her head. 

“You see, my _ good friend Sylvain,” _Dimitri‘s voice grows strained, “Insisted that dusk would be the hour when you would be most receptive to social invitations.”

Byleth snatches her coat off the bed, shoving her hands through the sleeves. She eyes her discarded boots. Was a professor expected to wear shoes in her own bedroom? Surely not. What was Dimitri saying about Sylvain?

“What I mean to say is… Tomorrow, I’m gathering our House members for a duel in the Training Grounds—after your instruction has concluded, of course.” Dimitri pauses, sighing. “Perhaps it would be beneficial… no, enjoyable for you to observe us?”

With that, Byleth finally yanks the door open. Dimitri, who had been leaning against the doorframe, immediately stiffens, only a few inches away, expression shifting from annoyance to surprise to embarrassment. He blinks slowly, once, twice. 

“Ah, Professor. You’re… you’re actually here, I see.” He’s dressed in his usual royal armor, rich blue cape draped from his right shoulder, collar trimmed neatly with silver embroidery. He shifts backwards slightly as he speaks, putting space between them.

Byleth nods, face blank. Desperately, she tries to imagine what a good professor would say in this situation.

“Forgive me for asking yet again, but… can you attend?” Dimitri says. For a moment, Byleth hears a slight quaver in his voice, but it passes immediately, swallowed by his overwhelming firmness. 

_ This is perfect! _ Sothis says cheerily. _ You must say yes! You must! _

“Quiet,” Byleth hisses.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Dimitri asks, frowning.

“I said yes,” Byleth says. “Yes. I would be glad to watch the duel tomorrow.”

Dimitri visibly relaxes, shoulders lowering several inches.

“Good then. See you in class.” He inclines his head, hand folded formally over his chest, then turns away, walking briskly. Byleth watches him until he turns the corner and heads up to the dormitory’s second floor.

A strange feeling echoes in her chest, very faintly. Clearly some emotion from her link with Sothis. As she closes her door, Byleth looks across the way one last time, and swears she sees a flash of fiery red hair peering around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uncomfortable, awkward Dimitri is extremely valuable. (Gosh I love this game)
> 
> i have a rough plan for how Byleth + Dimitri + Sylvain + Claude + the rest of the Blue Lions will be involved throughout this story, but feel free to hit me up in the comments with any scenarios/ideas you might have!


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you here to watch me undress?” Dimitri asked, tugging at his gauntlet’s metal fastening. A pile of discarded armor already sat on the blue-quilted bed. “It wouldn’t be the most irritating thing you’ve done today.”

Across the room, Sylvain lounged against the wall just inside the open door, arms crossed, head tipped back. His red hair stood out starkly against the dark wood. A small smile twitched on his face.

Dimitri pulled his gauntlet free and tossed it onto the bed. “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve done as you asked,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly on the mess of armored garments. “I erm… talked with her. The Professor.”

“Yeah?” Despite Sylvain’s noncommittal pose, his words bubbled with absolute amusement.

“Indeed,” Dimitri said. A thread of irritation trickled into his voice. He hooked his fingers into his collar, wrenching away the dark chestpiece in a single, precise movement. Underneath, a long-sleeved tunic stretched across his torso.

“I must say,” Dimitri continued, taking a seat on the bed, “I expected you to express a greater interest than this.” He waited, but Syvain didn’t speak. “You constantly badger me with your little… _ musings _ about possible courtships. And yet, now that I must go through the motions with our Professor—of all people—you’re not entertained?”

The room was silent for a moment more. Finally, Dimitri let out a huge sigh of exasperation. “Will you stop simply standing there? It’s incredibly unnerving.” 

Sylvain shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a bit jealous.”

The anger flew from Dimitri’s expression. He frowned, then leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Jealous? I don’t follow.” 

“You asked Teach out today,” Sylvain said. Leaving the wall, he began to cross the chamber. “You? And Teach?” He gave Dimitri a meaningful look, stopping a few feet from the bed. Dimitri just stared up at him, sections of his blond hair still tousled from undressing, clearly confused. “Sorry, what?” 

Laughter filled the room, spinning out into the hallway. “Gods, Dimitri,” Sylvain said, grinning. “How am I supposed to tease you when your head’s this thick?” 

Dimitri frowned. “If ‘thick’ means possessing an adequate understanding of social nuances, then yes, I am indeed.”

“Sure, ‘adequate,” Sylvain snorted. He put his hands behind his head. “In all seriousness, I can definitely respect your initiative with this whole thing. I mean, hell, we just made the deal about Teach this morning, and you’re already making a pass!”

In an instant, a pink flush crept up Dimitri’s neck, settling lightly across his face.

“Even when _ I _go after a girl, I have to work up the courage for a day or two. Just how eager are you—“

Dimitri growled and hurled a stray shoulder plate at Sylvain’s head. The piece, narrowly missing, flew out the door and into the hallway. It slammed against the wall with incredible force, split the boards, and wedged deep into the wood. Both boys stared at the quivering piece of metal, eyes wide.

“What the fuck?!” Sylvain yelled, just as Dimitri said, “It was _ supposed _ to be a companionable throw.”

“_ Companionable throw _ my ass, look at the damn wall!”

“Language,” Dimitri grumbled. He crossed his arms, looking at the ground like a berated child. After a moment, he added,“ I do apologize.”

Sylvain sighed, hand pressed to the side of his neck. “I suppose I deserved some of that,” he said. He moved to sit beside Dimitri on the bed. Dimitri shoved his mess pile against the wall to clear a space. “What date did you end up asking Teach to, after all?” Sylvain asked.

“I invited her to observe our House’s duel tomorrow.” Dimitri said. He leaned back against the headboard and shut his eyes, long legs stretched out behind Sylvain’s back. “She agreed.”

“Our… House duel? What duel, exactly?” 

“The one I’m going to inform everyone about before class in the morning.”

Sylvain groaned. 

“And yes, you will be attending,” Dimitri said. “As will all of the Blue Lions. It’s mandatory.

Sylvain groaned again, throwing his head back. “You’re not the king yet.”

“I’m the House Leader. You’re going.”

“I won’t.”

“You are.”

Out in the hall, a set of aggravated footsteps grew louder, approaching the open door. Dimitri and Sylvain froze, immediately silent as they eyed the shoulder plate sticking out of the dormitory wall. 

“What if it’s Byleth on night patrol?” Sylvain whispered, fighting back a laugh. Dimitri shushed him.

The footsteps stopped, just beyond view. The person clicked their tongue disapprovingly. “Boar prince.” Footsteps retreated, a door slammed, then silence.

Sylvain and Dimitri looked at each other.

“I never thought I’d be glad to hear Felix say that,” Dimitri said, breathless with suppressed laughter.

Sylvain pretended to look contemplative. “You have to admit, impaling the wall with a piece of armor is a _ very _ boar prince thing to do.”

“Oh, piss off.”

“_ Language _.”

A single wooden spear props open the massive Training Ground doors. The familiar clang of metal-on-metal leeches from inside, intertwined with the gleeful buzz of several laughing, chattering students

Byleth stands at the gap, hesitating, gripping her dagger hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Already, her stomach seems to have crawled up into her chest, settling into a hard clump just below the throat. She swallows thickly, sends a silent prayer up to the goddess, and steps through the doorway.

At the center of the room, flashes of red and blue mingle together in a whirl of bright movement; Dimitri advances on Sylvain, lance in hand, pressing the attack with elegant, sweeping blows. The prince wears a gleeful half-smile, one blue eye partially shrouded by his hair, gaze relentlessly fixated on his red-haired friend.

“What am I supposed to do? You outrange me!” Syvlain cries. He’s laughing as he furiously backs up, axe at his side, one hand stretched out. “Get the hell away, man!”

Dimitri laughs, a bright peal of happiness. The unexpected sound sends shockwaves through Byleth’s chest.

Many of the Blue Lions—Ashe, Annette, Ingrid, and Mercedes—sit on the marble steps near the east wall, pointing and yelling at the two combatants, fully captured by the energy of the battle. Dedue and Felix stand in the shade by the weapon racks, both wearing leather armor, arms crossed.

Byleth presses her palms against the inside of the door. What was the best option here? Clearly, the Blue Lions group on the steps exuded friendliness, but there was something about Dedue and Felix’s silence that was certainly less intimidating. Would it be strange if she just stood here? Perhaps she wasn’t expected to join—

A hot weight settles on her shoulders, pulling Byleth from her mental web; an arm, draped around her neck. From behind, a smooth, lilting voice says, “Sorry I’m late.” 

“Claude?” 

The curly-haired boy gives an impish smile, curling his free hand into a thumbs up. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Teach,” Claude says. His golden cape is tossed carelessly over one shoulder, stopping just before his waist. “Then again, I never expect to see you anywhere.”

Byleth nearly rolled her eyes, but managed to stop herself. “Are you here to duel?” she asked.

Claude shakes his head, earring glinting in the afternoon sun. “Nah, I’m not planning on fighting anyone. I just heard it might be… interesting.” He pauses, then grins again, brighter than before.

“Suspicious as always,” Byleth murmured, and turned back towards the arena. She feels a twinge of annoyance at Claude for disrupting her chance to watch. Dimitri and Sylvain stand at the center now, shaking hands with their weapons sheathed. 

“Who won, do you think?” Byleth asks. Claude shrugs.

After a moment, Sylvain catches sight of her over Dimitri’s shoulder. His eyes immediately light up, and Byleth hears indistinct chatter rise from the two boys. Dimitri shakes his head, putting a warning hand on Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain shoves it off and smirks. Then, he grabs Dimitri by the cape and heads straight toward Byleth, pulling the frowning prince with him.

As they approach, Claude calls out, “Hello, ladies!” Byleth covers her face with a hand, sighing.

“Good to see you, Teach,” Sylvain says, ignoring Claude entirely. He wiped his forehead, pushing back his hair from the sheen of sweat. “Too bad you missed the first round. It was a nail-biter.”

Behind him, Dimitri’s expression is unreadable. His eyes flicker to Claude’s hand clamped on Byleth’s shoulder. Byleth frowns.

“You should stay awhile. Felix and Dedue are up next,” Sylvain says. “And with Felix’s mouth, anything could happen.”

“We’d love to,” Claude says. Byleth elbows him in the side, and he doubles over, grabbing his stomach with both hands. Dimitri snorts. Byleth can sense tension between the two boys—likely a result of their House rivalry.

“Come on, let’s meet the others,” Sylvain says. Claude follows, still smiling.

As they approach the group on the steps, Annette springs up, brushing invisible dust off her black-and-gold mage uniform. Ashe immediately follows suit, standing with his feet together and hands clasped behind his back. Past them, Mercedes, who appears quite content beneath a floral parasol, smiles sweetly, eyes pinched into happy crescents. Ingrid sits beside her, blond hair tied back, sharing the patch of shade. 

Byleth feels a strange surge of bittersweet happiness—affection mingled with loneliness.

“So, so good to see you, Professor,” Annette squeaks. 

Ashe nods, exceedingly stiff, green eyes wide. “I hope you’re pleased with our performance today!”

Sylvain points at the two of them. “They’re up after Felix and Dedue.” He hides his mouth with his hand and lowers his voice. “I _ may _ have told them that you’ll be grading them.”

“Sylvain!” Byleth yells. Next to her, Dimitri jumps. She turns to the two quaking students, stretching out her hands placatingly. “Please, disregard whatever Sylvain told you. I’m simply here to watch.” 

Both let out a sigh of relief. 

Out in the arena, Dedue and Felix stand at the ready, Dedue wearing a pair of faded gauntlets, Felix wielding a gleaming sword. The dark-haired boy turns toward the large group, looking annoyed.

“May we begin? Or shall we continue chattering?”

Dimitri, finally finding his voice again, calls out, “We are ready to be impressed, Felix!” Felix scoffs, turning away.

As everyone begins to sit, Byleth, unsure once again, lingers uncomfortably at the foot of the steps, then abruptly drops down onto an empty patch of marble, making sure to maintain a substantial three feet of distance from the rest of the group.

Sylvain hooks his arm through Claude’s and winks. “Come on, let’s get to know each other.” He begins to pull Claude toward a far-away seat, light voice contrasting his vicious grip. 

Claude gives an overly large smile, clearly resisting. “Sorry, I don’t do red-heads.”

“I guess we’ll just be friends, then,” Sylvain growls, still maneuvering him away. 

Byleth fights back a smile and forces herself to focus the arena. Apparently, she had severely underestimated the joy of observing her students outside of combat. For just a moment… she had felt... Byleth closes her eyes, trying to find a name for the ache in her chest. As always, the emotions seem to flit out of reach before she can properly feel them.

“May I sit?” Dimitri asks, and her reverie breaks. He stands much like she had, hesitating

“Of course,” Byleth says. He lowers himself onto the steps with extreme care, rolling his weight carefully from feet to legs to palms, as though afraid the solid marble won’t hold his weight. All the while he keeps his eyes on Felix and Dedue. His elbow brushes hers, and eventually, he stills.

“Is this… too much?” Dimitri asks. 

“Sitting?” Byleth asks. His large frame nearly takes up twice the space of hers. 

“No, not sitting.” Byleth watches him readjust his position on the bench, trying to draw his limbs away from her personal space as he leans closer to speak, only half-succeeding. Sunlight edges his hair with afternoon gold. “I mean _ this _.” He looks past Byleth at the rest of the House. “You’re here at my request, so I feel a certain... responsibility for the outcome. Sylvain’s way of speaking to you is quite abrasive. And disrespectful. I apologize.“ 

He looks surprisingly distraught, wearing the same expression as when he performs badly in class. Byleth feels a small smile form on her face—probably the wrong reaction, as usual. 

“Dimitri. While I appreciate your hesitations, you need to remember that I’ve never been around those to whom social niceties matter.” Byleth watches the two students in the arena bow to each other, remembering the colorful language of her fellow mercenaries. “I’m a Professor, yes. But first and foremost, I’m a solider. You need not worry about babying me. Sylvain’s familiar way of speaking, although irritating at times, can actually be... refreshing. After a day of teaching, I always find myself growing very tired of stiff speech.” Byleth hears irritation seep into her voice. 

Dimitri fold his hands. “I erm... still feel a strong desire to apologize. I’m not fully certain what for, though.” Both of them look at each other, then turn away.

Suddenly, Felix and Dedue spring into action. Byleth stares, enraptured and squinting against the sun.

Dimitri folds his arms, sneaking several small, sidelong glances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo these characters are so fun to put in scenes together! i promise Felix won’t always be used as the edgy character—he has a lot of depth and will definitely be given time to open up in the future.
> 
> I think i’ll continue with this same format for future chapters: a past tense intro with Dimitri, showing his reaction to the past chapter, followed by a present tense section, deeply rooted in Byleth’s head. As always, feel free to leave ideas in the comments :)
> 
> p.s.—While researching for this chapter I realized that Sylvain, Dimitri, and Felix’s rooms are all adjacent?? It makes sense, but wow, what a squad. RIP sweet Ashe, he’s not allowed to sleep by his noble brofriends :(


	3. Chapter 3

Even with the window thrown wide open, the bedroom air was hot and thick, settling over everything like an unwanted blanket. After an evening at the training grounds, the night had only become warmer, and the breeze circling through Dimitri’s room from the darkened monastery did little to break through the heat.

Sylvain, who had wordlessly flopped onto Dimitri’s bed about ten minutes before, lay with his hands tucked behind his head, uniform vest strewn on the floor.

Dimitri would’ve chastised the behavior any other time, but tonight he sat blank-faced and staring, straddling the chair at his desk, arms draped over the backrest. A sword lay across his lap, and his breath came heavily, his lips slightly parted. He did not do well in the heat.

“Gods, whoever decided to put the nobles on the second floor didn’t know anything about anything,” Sylvain groaned, covering his eyes with one forearm. “I’ll bet you they just thought ‘nobles should be above the commoners’ and built it like that. Idiots. Warm air rises. It’s hot as hell.”

Dimitri unsheathed his sword and pressed the flat of the blade against his neck. He sighed at the cold touch, and Sylvain rolled his eyes. 

“Can you at least start talking?” Sylvain said. “I’m sweating, I’m bored, and I can’t blow off some steam with a girl because of _ your _ stupid deal—“

Dimitri looked up at that, sputtering, “Now hold on—“

“Put down the damn sword,” Sylvain pointed at Dimitri, “And tell me everything about your date. ”

Dimitri stubbornly set his jaw, repositioning the blade to get a fresh patch of cool metal. His face was flushed by the heat. “I appreciate your sacrifice for _ our _deal,” he said, “But I’m not sure what you want. You were there, weren’t you?” 

“Well, I _ was _, but I got stuck over by Claude. That hardly counts. What did you do with her?”

“I sat beside her. And we talked. At the end, I wished her a good night.” 

Sylvain snorted. “Nice date.”

Dimitri let the sword fall from his neck, glaring at his friend. “Why do you belittle every attempt I make with women? You treat me like I’m some ignorant child.”

“Maybe because you are?” Sylvain said, raising one eyebrow. 

Dimitri scowled and straightened in his seat, invisibly donning an air of nobility. “I’m well-educated in all matters of courtship.”

“Reading about something isn’t the same as actually doing it,” Sylvain said. “As I’m sure Teach will find out when you try and kiss her for the first time.” After the words left his mouth, Sylvain shielded his head with his hands, laughing madly.

“_ First of all, _” Dimitri began, jaw clenched, as Sylvain continued to double over on the bed, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak about our Professor so frivolously. And secondly, I’d like to make it abundantly clear that I don’t plan on kissing her. Once she agrees to...” Dimitri paused,”...to ‘date’ me, I will have satisfied my end of our deal. Then, I will offer her a thorough explanation about the situation, and we’ll be finished with it.”

Sylvain just laughed harder. Dimitri scowled and put his sword against his neck once more.

Out on the window’s ledge, a black cat threaded along the cobblestone and into view, ears twitching in the night breeze; then, with a coiled hop, it sprung directly onto Dimitri’s counter. 

Sylvain stopped laughing and scrunched his nose, immediately sitting up and moving further from the window. “Hey, shoo! Go, cat!” 

The cat blinked.

“C’mon! Out!” Sylvain flapped a hand, still leaning back. He looked over at Dimitri, who was watching the cat, unaffected. “Put it outside and shut the window. These things are _ always _ climbing in my room, too. Little creeps.”

As soon as Dimitri stood, the cat’s ears flattened against its skull. It hissed, tail lashing. “You know that animals dislike me,” Dimitri muttered, tentatively reaching out. 

“I don’t care, just grab it,” Sylvain hissed back, gaze still fixed on the tiny, spitting beast. Dimitri winced and looked away, slowly leaning in, hands outstretched. 

“Oi, what are you two doing?” Felix strode into the room. He wore his full uniform with the long, white sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

Sylvain froze, expression clearly guilty. Dimitri brought his arms back to his sides and sank back into the chair, sighing.

“Sylvain wants the cat out,” Dimitri said tiredly.

Felix eyed the cat, one hand on his hip. “Clearly, he doesn’t plan on leaving,” he said. “And I wouldn’t recommend forcing him.” 

Before Dimitri could warn otherwise, Felix crossed the room and held out his free hand. The cat sniffed his fingers, its ears flicking up once again. Sylvain and Dimitri stared. Felix’s eyes crinkled at the corners, just slightly, as the cat licked his hand.

“How?” Sylvain asked, incredulous.

“Cats don’t like brutes,” Felix said. Without a word, he drew up a nearby chair, rested one elbow on the counter, and slid his hand down the cat’s back. The cat flopped onto its side. “Please, resume whatever dull conversation you were having before I got here.”

Dimitri looked at Sylvain, clearly torn between embarrassment and panic. It wasn’t often that Felix willingly joined them, but as for the conversation topic… 

Sylvain grinned. “So, what’s something that you and Teach did talk about, then?” He asked.

Dimitri glanced over at Felix, who showed no sign of listening, let alone caring. “Erm, you, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I apologized for your appalling way of speaking.”

Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed shut, pressed firmly behind the back of a fourth boy. “Appalling is a wonderful way of describing it,” Claude said. He winked at Sylvain.

“No, no, no. Blue Lions only,” Sylvain said. He flapped a dismissive hand at Claude the same way he had with the cat.

Claude ignored him and moved to sit on the floor beside Dimitri’s bed. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his legs. He wore thin, tan shorts. The sleeves of his yellow undershirt were missing entirely, leaving shreds of thread dangling around his shoulders.

“Smart idea,” he said, pointing at Dimitri, who still held the sword to his skin. The blond haired boy frowned but nodded, eyes flicking to Sylvain.

“And cute cat,” Claude added. Felix gave him a look over his shoulder, which Claude returned with an encouraging smile.

The room was silent. Sylvain glared at the back of Claude’s head, arms crossed. 

“Weren’t we talking about Dimitri and Teach?” Claude asked. He peered around the room at the three boys, wearing the grin of a man who knew he’d won. 

Hidden out of sight, Sylvain mimed a strangling motion, then said, “Why yes, we were,” voice caked with politeness. “Dimitri was just about to tell us what our Professor thinks of me.”

Dimitri measured Claude for a moment more, eyes sharp beneath his loose hair. Finally, he turned toward Sylvain. “She complimented you. She called your familiarity ‘refreshing, and claimed that formal speech… irritated her.” His expression turned sour.

Felix shifted in his seat, just slightly. 

“I watched her. She seemed to enjoy each fight, but during the rounds, we spoke little. I couldn’t think of what to say, not after she mentioned her irritation.” Dimitri sighed, pressing his fingers to his brow. “I just wish I possessed the ease of speech which you both bear.”

Sylvain and Claude looked at each other, one bright-eyed at the comparison, the other frowning.

“I’m not sure how to proceed. How can I treat her with familiarity when she’s in a clear position of authority?” Dimitri asks, throwing up a hand, gaze on the floor. “What do I talk about? Can I ask her anything?” Then he looked up at Sylvain, mouth set in a determined line. “What are your boundaries with women?” 

Claude stifled a laugh with his fist. Sylvain smiled.

“Where did that come from?” asked his red-haired friend. “Just how familiar are you planning to be?”

“Boundaries,” Dimitri continued, exasperated, “About conversation topics. When you talk, how do you know what you can ask?”

Sylvain shrugged. “It’s a mix between what you actually want to ask and what you imagine she wants you to ask. Just feel it out. Everyone likes it when you express interest in their life.”

Dimitri nodded, looking thoughtful. “She invited me to tea, tomorrow,” he said.

Claude‘s eyes went wide, but he kept silent. Sylvain’s smile grew.

“She seemed to express a strange reluctance as she was asking. Almost like she was being forced.” Dimitri’s voice quiets as he speaks, hardly audible. “I expect the other teachers have requested that she begin having tea with students. I cannot help but worry that I won’t perform well enough, even with the chance to converse. I have little experience with womanly topics—”

Felix made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan, cutting Dimitri off. “Speak to her about combat.” He clicked his tongue, hand resting on the cat’s head. “Obviously.”

Dimitri looked at Sylvain for approval. The red-haired boy seemed taken aback, but curtly nodded his assent.

“Nice to see at least one of you can give good advice,” Claude said. “Although I would happily share my superior wisdom, as an _ outsider _myself, I lack the necessary qualifications.” He uncurled his legs, rising to loom above Sylvain. 

“Nosy,” Sylvain said flatly. 

“Thanks for talking so loudly,” Claude murmured back.

He walked to the door and pulled it open. He glanced back at Dimitri, who had put his now-warm sword back in his lap.

“Dimitri? Just my recommendation—_ work on your swearing _.” Claude smiled, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Sylvain shivered, despite the heat. “I hate that guy. His whole vibe is just… ugh.”

Dimitri made eye contact with Felix, and the two boys exchanged a wordless agreement: _ same vibe. _ Felix’s cat rose from the counter, arching its back and yawning. Felix rubbed a finger under its chin, standing as well.

“Thanks for the conversation. I’ll be going to bed now.” He watched the little cat jump through the window and into the night. Still facing the window, he said, “I don’t know what the two of you are planning, and I don’t intend to. Just—be reasonable.” 

“As always,” Sylvain replied. Felix scoffed and headed back through the doorway. 

Sylvain swung his legs over the side of the bed and fluffed the neck of his shirt, airing it out. The room was quiet, except for the slow breeze.

“So should I swear tomorrow, then?” Dimitri asked glumly.

Sylvain sighed. “It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted.

  


_Look at you, heading out on your first playdate! _Sothis’s voice echoes cheerily in Byleth’s head. _If I wasn’t acutely aware of the fact that you just vomited in the dining hall restroom, I might even be a little proud._

“Refrain from using the word ‘playdate,’ please,” Byleth growls, passing underneath a gate wreathed with lavender. A small, wooden tea box is tucked under her one arm. In the other, she holds a copper kettle. “And I thought we agreed you wouldn’t talk to me during the day. It’s distracting.”

A small sliver of hurt spikes through Byleth’s chest before being hastily withdrawn, shrouded by amusement. 

_Who else would help you remember all your students’ names? _Sothis says, words dangerously sweet.

“That’s different.” 

Byleth had wasted most of her morning in an overly-perfumed office, getting advice from her father’s friend, Alois. The older knight was ecstatic that she’d come to _ him _, of all people, to teach her about the nuances of tea parties. 

Byleth didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was simply the least afraid of him, compared to the other monastery instructors. 

“Well, my dear,” —of course he insisted on calling her that— “the first thing to remember about teatime is that you must _ always _ keep the conversation light.” Alois slammed a fist down on his desk, accentuating the point. Byleth winced, and he continued to pace slowly behind her. 

“I happen to be a _ veteran _ when it comes to this part. My jokes which, as you know, many students have enjoyed through the years, never fail to lighten—no, to _ elevate _, a teatime conversation!” 

He gestured excitedly upwards, keeping one arm folded behind his back, and raised his eyebrows in sync with the movement. He spoke with a strange inflection, accentuating every few words. Byleth tried desperately to keep her face neutral. “Our own upcoming _ prince of Faerghus _ is one of my many admirers. He has _ quite _ an eye for comedy, young Dimitri,” Alois said, chortling.

At that, Byleth hadn’t been able to hold back, and let out a very unladylike snort. The thought of Dimitri acting as any sort of judge of humor was too much to bear. 

On an early day of class, Dimitri had raised his hand, straight-faced, to ask whether Professor Manuela could come in as a guest lecturer. “Sylvain mentioned she could have him on his knees in a single stroke.” Across the room, Sylvain’s face went pale. 

“I was unaware that her swordplay had reached such levels of excellence,” Dimitri said. He nodded respectfully in the red-head’s direction. Sylvain covered his face with his hand. Next to him, Ashe went bright red. Byleth had managed to stammer, “Yes, yes, perhaps I can arrange that.”

Alois straightened his white overcoat, and Byleth coughed, trying to cover up her initial reaction. “Never let your opponent distract you,” he said dramatically, narrowing his eyes. “If you lose your train of thought, you’ve lost.”

Byleth frowned. “Remind me again, why are they my opponent? I’m hoping to use this time to _ befriend _—“

“Remain vigilant!” Alois roared, raising one fist. “_ You _ are in control.” Byleth had slouched in her seat, settling in for a long tirade.

_Look, _Sothis says. Warm enthusiasm rises in Byleth’s chest—strange, alien, not from her.

“Away with you,” Byleth whispers, but there isn’t any force to it.

Across the cobblestone path, at the edge of the manicured grass, Dimitri sits stiffly at a too-small white table. Three cookies rest on a dining hall plate, and whenever a student walks by, he looks up and stares darkly until they pass.

Byleth feels a smile creep onto her face. She remembers this dark-eyed Dimitri from the first time she’d met him, back when life was familiar. She’d seen him very first: he’d stumbled through the line of bushes before the other two House leaders, leaves crushed in his hair, annoyance and fear tangling together into a single, hunted expression. 

Although fascinating to watch, it would be cruel to make him wait alone a moment longer. “Dimitri!” Byleth calls out, waving as she approaches. 

Dimitri’s burning intensity breaks; he stands, nearly upending the plate of cookies, and faces her.

“Professor. Excuse me.” He pushes the plate closer to the table’s center, all business once again. “I’m glad you could make it. Though of course, it was… you who invited me.” She notices that his lance leans against the nearby hedge, blue ribbon brushing the grass. The sight comforts her, though it shouldn’t.

Byleth sets her box and kettle on the table. “I brought the tea,” she says. Dimitri smiles politely. Both of them are still standing, and after a long moment, Byleth realizes that Dimitri is waiting for her to take a seat first. 

“My apologies.” Byleth sinks into her chair, and Dimitri follows suit, though with significantly more poise. He pulls off his metal gauntlets. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had to do this,” she says, letting the small lie cover up her embarrassment. She fiddles with the archaic tea box. “I had to borrow this set from Alois, actually. Careful, that’s hot,” she adds. Dimitri’s clasped fingers had nearly brushed the kettle.

“Alois?” Dimitri’s eyes light up. “Yes, I had forgotten—he’s like an uncle to you. He’s a good man.” 

Byleth frowns, unsure where exactly Dimitri had heard _ that _ information. She busies herself with removing the teacups, placing them on the table. “A _ distant _ uncle, maybe. Jeralt is the only family I have here. And even he feels distant, sometimes.” 

Instant Irritation fills her head, wordless but pointed nonetheless. Byleth feels it and looks up from the rose-colored china, remembering what she just said. “That’s not to say I’m not lonely! Er, that is to say, it’s not that_ I am _. It’s just, Jeralt has always been the private sort. He and I both, really.” Dimitri seems to tense at that, much to Byleth’s dismay. Feeling flushed, she picks a teabag at random and puts it in the steaming kettle.

Dimitri selects his teacup, taking the handle between his thumb and pointer-finger, and places it in front of him. It looks so out-of-place in his hand that Byleth forgets, momentarily, to concentrate on being socially presentable; when Dimitri reaches for the kettle, she says, “Please, let me,” and takes the handle from beneath his fingers. 

Dimitri eyes flick to hers, arm outstretched.

“It’s customary for the male to pour the tea, in Faerghus,” he says, voice sounding strained. She chides herself internally, noticing his discomfort. 

“I’m your Professor, no?” She puts a finger to the lid, keeping it in place, and pours him a full cup. “Today is my treat.”

Dimitri raises the cup to his lips, peering at her over the brim. “It smells delightful,” he murmurs. His hand tightens on the edge of the table. Byleth looks away without knowing why.

Hot drinks had always been disagreeable to Byleth, but tea in particular. Waiting for a drink to cool seemed like a foolish waste of time and energy. If she had to consume leaf-stained water, it would be within the context of a long march, not of pleasure. 

“Won’t you pour your own cup?” Dimitri asks, blinking owlishly. 

“Of course,” Byleth says. She hesitates until he looks down, then fills her cup just halfway, praying to the goddess that he doesn’t notice the difference. 

The tension still hasn’t left Dimitri’s shoulders. He takes a cookie from the plate, tight grip causing crumbs to fall onto the table.

“It’s… it’s a damn shame… that we didn’t get to fight each other yesterday.” Dimitri speaks the words painfully, like a toddler being forced to apologize.

Byleth’s mind reels, trying to reconcile the unexpected swear with her image of Dimitri. Had she accidentally sworn around him without realizing? “Er, yes. Yes, I enjoy a good fight.” 

Dimitri seems relieved at that, shutting his eyes and blowing lightly on his tea.

Byleth takes one of the two remaining cookies and eats it slowly, insides churning with confusion.

Dimitri finally takes a sip, making the small ‘ah’ noise that Byleth always fails to understand. He seems pleased.

“Tea is just so… damn good.” He delivers the line with significantly less strain than before, and much greater nobility. 

“Indeed,” Byleth says, bemused. She blows on her tea, eyes half-lidded. “Dimitri, did another student convince you to swear?”

Blood rushes to Dimitri’s face, bright under his pale skin. He clears his throat and places his cup back on the table. “I may have received counseling recently, yes. I apologize if I still seem stiff—it’s all quite new.” 

Byleth shakes her head, suspicions confirmed. “I must know. Why?”

Dimitri leans back in his chair. “It came to my attention that I was, on occasion, inappropriately formal with others. And if I were attempting to remedy my mistake, swearing could help me appear more… natural.” He gives her an exhausted look, eyes half-hidden behind his loose hair. “Was it so obvious?”

Over Dimitri’s shoulder, Byleth sees a speck of movement: Claude passing by, waving at her from behind a far-away hedge, along with a very peeved-looking Sylvain. She wrenches her eyes away with some difficulty, fighting down her rising wave of embarrassment.

“Well, perhaps for you, swearing is less natural,” Byleth says. She feels woefully unqualified to be giving advice to the dignified boy in front of her. “Perhaps for you, it’s easiest to speak formally.”

“Stiff speech is the problem, is it not?” Dimitri says, glowering into his tea. “You said as much yesterday.”

Byleth thinks back, unable to remember the specifics of what she’d said. “Well, yes,” she began, “I might’ve said those words. But… there’s a difference between Manuela’s polite, tittering niceties and your eloquence.” Byleth bites her tongue, wishing she hadn’t used a specific name. 

She continues. “When you present yourself this way, you are being true. Other people use it as a disguise, before they really trust you.” Whether or not it made sense, Byleth isn’t sure. She watches Dimitri uneasily.

Dimitri blinks. “I see.” He takes a long drink, eyes fixed on some invisible point. “I see.” Then he looks to her again, sitting forward in his chair with a slight smile. “Your explanations are always impeccable, Professor. No matter the subject, it seems.” 

Byleth shifts in her seat. With Jeralt, praise had always been a rare commodity, given only in life-or-death scenarios. Hearing it now, from a possible, almost-friend, strikes deeply. She nods, speechless.

Dimitri reaches behind him, grabbing his silver lance from beside the hedge. “Erm, I brought this.” He holds it out to her, palms open. It gleams in the sunlight, stretching three times longer than the table. “In all honesty, I prepared it as a last resort, in case conversation was difficult. Weapons are… an easy topic for me.”

“Is our conversation difficult?” Byleth asks. She tries to ignore how much she cares about the answer.

“Well, no. I just wished to offer. In case you were interested.” 

Byleth puts her teacup down without a second thought, grasping the metal nearest to his hands. The silver feels utterly smooth, polished to perfection. A royal weapon.

“May I?” 

“Of course.”

Byleth stands, already pivoting into an offensive stance, more than happy to let their tea go cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for waiting! I had a blast writing this one, like /especially/. I feel like Dimitri and Byleth finally have a little foundation for what comes next. Both of them are trying to figure out how to be themselves around each other :D
> 
> Felix is a cat-person, change my mind.
> 
> also, I really adore the idea that Claude has a sixth-sense for any and all funny business going on around the monastery. shoutout to bchemicalromance for letting me know that Claude’s room is RIGHT next to the Blue Lion boys’. BEAUTIFUL.
> 
> thank you for all your support! onto the next chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dimitri fled down the dormitory hall, moving with the halting, self-defeating stride of a prideful man chased by a monster.

His steel boots dipped on the soft floorboards, each step caught between a run and a straight-backed walk; his silver lance dangled in his left hand, tip hovering dangerously close to the wall. The brooch securing his cape was gone, along with the rest of the blue garment.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri called. The hallway was empty, and an orange glow poured in through the windows on the left—the last beams of sunlight threading past the monastery’s silhouetted spires. “Sylvain? I need you!” 

He moved up the small set of stairs toward the last row of rooms, and surged forward to seize the door handle. Locked. He growled. From inside, Dimitri heard the slightest rasp of shoes against carpet, and he pounded his fist against the door’s center.

“Open the door, Sylvain!” He pounded again, more insistently.

“...Ah…” A timid voice, most definitely _ not _belonging to a certain red-haired boy, came from inside the room. “Your Highness?”

“Ashe?” Dimitri recoiled. His fist uncurled. 

The door opened with a soft click. Fingers lingering on the door handle, eyes fixed on the floor, Ashe stood silently. The hood of his thick, navy blue coat protruded from the collar of his uniform. A faint blush dusted his face, and two leather-bound books were clutched tight against his chest. 

Dimitri frowned. “What in the Goddess's name are you doing in Sylvain’s chambers?” 

“It’s… well,” Ashe said, putting a hand to the back of his head. “It’s a little hard to explain, actually.” He looked up at the prince, green eyes burning with a strange insistence. “I wasn’t stealing!”

“I--Yes, yes, I know,” Dimitri replied, eyebrows bunching in confusion. The gray-haired boy sighed.

“I only came for these.” Ashe held out the books. In fine, gold lettering, the topmost cover read: _ A Youngue Man’s Guide To A Life of Excellence and Nobilitie: Part XXXII _. “Sylvain used to throw them out the window.”

Dimitri fought back a smile, fully aware of his friend’s distaste for the series. Ashe stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. 

“I used to always pick up the ones he threw out,” Ashe said. “After awhile, though, I simply_ had _ to ask him to stop. The pages were getting soaked through, and the worms...” A shiver wracked Ashe’s frame, and he drew the books tighter to his chest. “Sylvain lets me take them straight from his room, now.” 

“I’m glad they’re being put to use,” Dimitri said kindly, and Ashe brightened. “Though the head of House Gautier likely wouldn’t be too pleased with his son’s generosity.”

A feminine squeal pierced the hallway window from outside. Dimitri immediately put both hands on his lance, whirling to face the window. The color drained from his face. 

“I hate to involve you in this, Ashe. But I’m afraid I… I may require your assistance.”

“Your Highness?” Ashe asked. His gaze drifted from Dimitri’s lance, to his missing cape and clasp, back to his wild expression. “What happened?”

Dimitri reached to clasp Ashe by the elbow. “Not here,” the prince muttered. He looked over his shoulder, down the hallway, and the other boy stared back at him, wide-eyed. “Tell me honestly: can we make it safely down to your quarters?”

“Safely?” Ashe’s voice rose in pitch, cracking. “Are we in trouble?”

Another bright peal of laughter drifted in from outside, and Dimitri tensed, pulling on Ashe’s arm and causing the smaller boy to stumble, nearly dropping his books. “No time!” the prince spit out. 

The two boys began walking through the hallway at a brisk pace. They headed down both sets of stairs, Dimitri just a breath ahead of Ashe, his fingers still tangled in the boy’s sleeve. 

Out on the grass at the entryway, a group of five or six female students stood in their uniforms, clustered and giggling, playfully pushing one another toward the dormitory stairs. 

Dimitri threw his hand up to shield his face. He hunched over and tugged again on Ashe’s sleeve, turning sharply to walk parallel with the lower rooms.

“Your key, Ashe,” Dimitri muttered. “Have it ready!”

“Ah, yes! Sorry!”

One of the girls pointed at the two boys and turned to her group, chattering excitedly. 

“Prince Dimitri!” one called out. As a single, indistinguishable blob, the cluster of girls began to move across the lawn.

Ashe fumbled with his key, trying desperately to bring it to the mouth of the lock. His two books, pinched under his armpit, began to slip. “I’m—I’m trying to—“

The mob moved closer, pushing one girl to the front. “We want to ask you something!” 

Dimitri seized the key from Ashe’s grasp put his shoulder against the door. He shoved it into the lock, metal grating against metal as the gears spun and caught. One more push, and the door swung inward, sending both boys stumbling into the chamber.

Dimitri turned, slammed it shut, and bolted the lock. 

For a brief moment, the young prince relaxed against the door and closed his eyes. Then he sank to the floor, dropping his lance in a sudden clatter, wrists resting limply on his knees. 

Ashe moved frantically.

“I'm sorry there aren't any chairs, my room isn’t usually this dirty!” He rushed over to a shelf on the opposite wall, set his books down, and bent down to gather up an armful of unrolled documents. “I’m in the process of cleaning—it’s just, I never expect anyone to visit.” 

Paper spilled from his arms as he looked around; the sight of the mess seemed to leech the smile from his face.

Around the edges of the room, book stacks of varying heights towered, forming a crooked secondary wall. In the corner, a bed, cleanly made, was buried in a thick layer of open, bookmarked novels. A row of delicate potted plants lined the windowsill. The whole space smelled of parchment and soil.

Someone knocked on the door. Ashe opened his mouth to answer, but a daggered look from Dimitri silenced him. 

“Prince Dimitri? Could you come outside for a minute? We have something important to ask you about.” 

The prince seemed to be willing himself into a state of deafness. 

“Or are you only interested in_ older _ girls?”

Dimitri tensed, eyes filling with fire, a whip about to crack.

Suddenly, another voice burst across the lawn, wild and rambunctious and _ much too loud _ : "Ladies! What’s so great over there? It _ can’t _ be better than what’s over here. Dinner? With me? Anyone?” 

With a collective groan of distaste, the mob of girls shifted away from the door. 

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Sylvain said. “Try me on first, at least.” 

Their voices started to fade across the grass, punctuated by harsh laughter. The door creaked; Sylvain’s large torso had settled comfortably against it, blocking the way.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, words rounded with an odd note of tenderness. “Been awhile since I’ve had to play bodyguard.”

Dimitri’s narrowed his eyes. “That tactic seemed dangerously close your typical habits of flirtation, Sylvain.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” 

Peace settled over the room slowly, like a dog curling up. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the evening crickets began their gentle song, a soft din of chirrups broken only by the occasional, warding wolf-whistle from the boy outside. 

Ashe was the first to speak, looking very small among the nest of novels on his bed. “Those girls were insistent.” His voice curved up at the end, an invisible question mark. 

“Er, yes. They came upon me as I left the dining hall, and, while similar encounters are not wholly unusual, one girl was—well, she was especially…” The boy paused, uncomfortable. “She was quite forward when I declined her confession. She seized my cape. She refused to release me.”

“So you fought them off with your lance?!”

Dimitri drew the weapon into his lap. “Well, no. I merely unclasped my cape and ran for dear life. The lance is from afternoon tea with our Professor.” He fixated intensely, staring at the smudged handprints near its center. “She seemed to enjoy handling weaponry.”

Outside, Sylvain laughed wordlessly, and Dimitri spun around, the arc of his lance sweeping up a whirlwind of parchment. Ashe winced.

“_ Your _ advice about cursing around her was laughably ineffective, I’ll add,” Dimitri said, frustration seeping into his voice.

A flurry of expletives, primarily involving the name “Claude” and the phrase “wasn’t me” streamed into the chamber, only partially softened by the thick wood.

“_ Sylvain, _” Dimitri warned. He glanced over at Ashe.

“It’s quite alright!” the gray-haired boy said, waving his hand dismissively, though a slight blush appeared on his face. “The Professor—did you have something to discuss with her?” 

“No. I did not have anything in particular.” Dimitri’s eyes were suddenly stone cold, boring through Ashe and embedding somewhere in the wall beyond him. “Is that so strange? Sitting down for tea with the Professor of your House?”

“I—I didn’t mean it that way. I’m curious about what she was like, that’s all.”

The prince tilted his head back, strange spell breaking, hair falling away from his face.

“I apologize, Ashe. I’ve been acting like a child for much of today, it seems.” He sighed, gaze lost in the seams of the ceiling boards. “Ever since this afternoon, my mind feels terribly slow, as though each thought must be wrenched from the mud. And underneath my skin, this… creeping frustration. But enough about that.”

Dimitri continued. “When you speak with the Professor, alone, she watches at you in a very particular way. I can hardly describe it, but perhaps it would be closest to... the sensation of being watched by an opponent, the moment before they strike the perfect, felling blow. In that instant, when they know they've won, a sharp understanding surges between the two of you, as though your soul has been flayed open. As though… they can see every part of you.”

“Our Professor—,” A brief flutter of emotion crossed the prince’s face; he shifted, swallowing. “She watches you like that.” 

  


_ Byleth? _

It’s the unexpected note of desperation in Sothis’s voice that shakes Byleth, makes her stop mid-step at the final corner before dormitory row. 

“Yes?” 

_ If you love a person very much, is it possible to forget them? _

Pity lances through Byleth’s chest. 

_ If someone forgot you… would you blame them for it? _

Sothis’s sadness morphs, becoming heavier, rising in Byleth’s throat, large enough to choke; she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest, glad of the street’s emptiness. “Sothis—”

_ I fear that I’ve forgotten someone. I fear… I left them behind. _ Her voice changes, becoming small and hard-edged, a pressed diamond. _ At the Red Canyon. Do you remember? You felt it as well, did you not? _

Byleth remembers. 

During her first battle alongside her students, the bleak, hollow landscape seemed to continually catch her by surprise, making her stomach turn, as though she _ knew _ what it should look like, knew the canyon’s current wrongness. And underneath, a lurking dread.

The following night she couldn’t sleep—all the strange bits of feeling and knowledge danced in her head, too much to ignore, not enough to understand—and Sothis had hovered, uncharacteristically silent, in the corner of her room. Neither one brought it up again.

“What can I do?” Byleth asks. She allows Sothis to feel a small fraction of her total pity, and carefully hides the rest. “Should we go there again? Now?”

Grateful warmth, a hint of embarrassment. _Please._ _It’s terribly sudden, I realize. Perhaps I will remember nothing at all, but if you would… try. _

Byleth nods, turning back toward the central pathway. 

_ Foolish girl, your weapons! In your chamber! _

Sothis’s burst of familiar exasperation soothes Byleth’s nerves; she allows herself a small smile as she walks across the thin stretch of lawn.

“I’d be lost without you,” she says. She unlocks her room.

_ You do know, I can tell when someone’s making a joke. Unlike you. _ Sothis materializes above Byleth’s desk, looking smug. _ I suppose it’s yet another area where you sorely need my advice. _

Byleth plucks her shortsword and bow from the corner of miscellaneous trash by the door.

“I think _ your _ advice—” Byleth cinches the strap at her side, securing the sword, “—has led one-too-many impressionable, young professors to their demise. Namely, into ridiculous situations involving tea. And princes. And bad first impressions.”

_ Oh, please. You both did fine. _

Byleth slips her bowstrap over her shoulder. She gives Sothis an incredulous look.

_ It was fine enough for you two, at least. _Sothis adds flatly.

The blue-haired girl sighs, steps silently out from her room, and shuts the door. By now, dusk had already spread its wings over the monastery, softening the building’s edges with a strange, purple half-light. The hem of her coat flutters around her knees, and she shivers. 

Tea with Dimitri hadn’t been… dreadful. Certainly, the beginning had been more than she could bear, but in the aftermath, when she considered the afternoon as a whole, her memory seemed to settle on strange, small things. 

Triangles of light spinning in the length of a silver lance. A large hand, fingers resting carefully near the table’s edge. The corner of a mouth, turned upwards. Open posture. Open laughter. Unexpected look of admiration. A slash of blue eyes. 

The lingering details, all collected together, added into something Byleth couldn’t fully know. She would think it over at another time, when she wasn’t this shaken, and decide whether it had been enjoyable, or not.

“Professor?”

Byleth’s train of thought shatters. Dimitri, frozen in place, stares at her from across the path. A strange sense of fate settles on Byleth, because _ of course it’s him _. He’s missing his cape, hair bedraggled. Something shifts in her stomach, nauseous and warm.

“I was just returning from Ashe’s chamber—I apologize. I’ll be in bed momentarily.”

He bows to her, and it takes her a moment to register the words, to realize that he’s a student, awake nearly past curfew. 

Byleth nods. “I trust that you will be.” 

A moment’s pause, then she stiffly walks past him, mind blank. She feels the weight of her bow against her shoulder, her sword pressing against her side. 

“Have… have a good night, Professor.”

She hears the goodbye when she’s already around the corner; she pauses, reading the hesitance in his voice, waiting.

  
_ Let us go, _ Sothis says. Byleth presses on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Sorry for the wait--I'm all settled down at college, so expect updates to come more often, now :D
> 
> The next chapter is gonna be a doozy, and I'm so excited to write it WOOOp. Action and blood, here we come (but not too much, heh).
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, let me know if you have any ideas for future scenes!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: Descriptions of violence]

“Professor?” 

She watched him, lips parted in silent shock; something dark shifted behind her eyes—something sickened, off-balance. Then the expression broke, replaced by a distant frigidity, as though curtains had been roughly drawn.

“I was just returning from Ashe’s chamber—I apologize,” Dimitri said. He put his lance behind his back, though the Professor seemed to hardly notice the weapon. “I’ll be in bed momentarily.”

She blinked, a blank phantom. “I trust that you will be,” she said.

Dimitri bowed, and the space between them felt unbearably thick. 

After a moment, she walked by. 

“Have… have a good night, Professor.” Dimitri spoke weakly, the last of his breath following her around the corner. Slowly, the Professor’s footsteps disappeared, echoing from the high walls, bodiless. 

The young prince looked down the row of closed dormitory doors. Then back at the corner. His empty hand flexed restlessly, fingers twitching. After a moment, he shook his head, dazed, and turned to head back up the dormitory stairs. 

Upon the second step, like a beast reaching the end of its chain, Dimitri stopped abruptly. He growled, pressing a palm to his forehead. 

“Curses,” he muttered.

From the shadowed fold of the lower rooms, a wide-shouldered silhouette stepped onto the grass.

“Your Highness, does something ail you?”

Dedue’s demeanor had loosened with sleep, unwinding the usual tension in his brow; his silver hair hung freely, stopping just before the collar of his light, cotton nightshirt. Despite Dimitri’s position on the stairs, the two boys stood nearly eye-to-eye.

“I’m sorry, Dedue. I didn’t intend to wake you.” 

Dedue nodded. “You spent much of the evening in Ashe’s room,” he said. The declaration betrayed no hint of feeling. “I heard you leave. The Professor, as well.”

Dimitri’s gaze drifted to the far path. “Indeed. It’s most unlike our Professor to go wandering at night, is it not?”

“Are you curious, Your Highness?” Dedue asked. He gave Dimitri a measured look, searching for something.

“Yes. I have an uneasy feeling about it.” 

Dimitri paused, lifting his face to the sky. The ghosts of stars smattered its black expanse. A hesitant stream of moonlight flowed from the horizon, chasing off the last of the purple dusk. The young prince breathed deeply.

“I will leave immediately, to follow her and mark the path. I’m trusting you to gather the others,” Dimitri said. He strode down the stairs and past Dedue, cape in a whirl, lance at his side. 

Dedue frowned. “Your Highness, I see no need to wake the entire House. It may be wisest for the two of us to investigate—.”

“No," Dimitri said. He paused at the corner. "It wouldn’t be right to keep our journey from everyone. If we go, we go together. Please, wake them, if you will.”

“As you wish.” Dedue bowed, hair falling around his ears, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Look for my path,” Dimitri said, eyes full of steel. Then he disappeared around the corner, leaving a troubled Dedue in his wake.

The Red Canyon’s mouth yawns open, a jagged landscape of scattered ruins and wind-bitten grass, harsh light and shadow. Underneath the moon’s glare, the rock walls glimmer coldly, rising on either side of Byleth like ocean waves, threatening to swallow her.

“You’re here, right?” Byleth whispers.

Sothis pushes against her thoughts in response. Bits of fearful anticipation fly from her link with the girl--emotional sparks which settle against Byleth, searing and invasive. She swallows, struggling to keep herself separate, and begins to walk.

Three marble pillars, bleached by moonlight. A faded building, roofless. Crumbling watchtower. Sothis stirs wildly with each passing structure, and a strange, fearful nostalgia rises large in Byleth’s chest. Byleth feels it acutely, feels Sothis's turbulent cycle of near-remembering, and wishes she didn’t. 

As the buildings pass, she wills her mind to go blank, and curls her consciousness into a tight fist. The moon beats down across her back. Her legs move, step by step. She watches her own shadow, crisp against the grass at her feet.

Finally, Sothis speaks. _ I once called this home. I have no doubt. _

Byleth pauses. The canyon ahead is pocketed with deep, mist-filled crevasses—a welcome change from the monotone, rocky tundra. Wide bridges cross the gaps. Across the way, an old courtyard sits, gleaming like marble.

_ For such a haze to settle over my memory… how long has passed since these buildings held the people I’ve forgotten? How long… was I asleep? _Sothis asks, voice softening.

“You haven’t forgotten,” Byleth says. She puts a hand to the strap across her chest, readjusts her bow and quiver. “I can tell that you’re remembering more than ever. We just need to keep looking.”

Sothis huffs. _ You don’t know what it’s like to be caught in an endless cycle of near-remembering. Downright maddening! _

“I do know what it’s like,” Byleth says simply, and steps forward, moving across the first bridge.

_ Do not. _

“Sothis, we share the same head.”

_ Oh please, we don’t share. It’s more like… borrowing an empty room. Or wearing a troublesome suit of armor. _

Byleth snorts, and shakes her head. 

Tendrils of mist curl from both sides of the bridge, rising from somewhere deep within the torn earth. Her stomach twinges at the sight. 

The last time she’d been at this bridge, her students had been with her. Their fight with the bandits was nothing spectacular or dangerous; Byleth had worked with Sothis to turn back time just once, to correct a foolish overextension by Felix. 

But the whole ordeal had felt _ wrong _. Amidst the students’ nervous bantering, she’d developed a dreadful sense that many of them had never taken a life before that night. Or worse, that they were only killing to impress her, to prove something, to fill some obligated role. 

After Dimitri's first kill of the night, he'd spoken softly, lips barely parting, words aching with a burden beyond his years. “I know they are just thieves, but this never gets easier for me." She wasn't meant to hear it.

Sothis catches onto the image of Dimitri flicking through her head, clearly interested. Byleth ignores her. 

“How much further would you like to go, Sothis?” 

A solitary cloud moves over the moon, drenching Byleth in darkness. 

Sudden wind stirs the grass spurting from the old courtyard stones. "We must turn back soon, if I'm to get any sort of rest before tomorrow's..."

Byleth cuts herself off, head cocked, listening intently. Something had sounded like... but perhaps not. She takes another step, pauses, and looks up. 

There are no clouds in the sky. 

Directly above her, silhouetted against the full moon, a monstrous, crimson-beaked bird is hurtling through the air, claws outstretched. 

Cold fear spreads into Byleth’s blood; she immediately drops to one knee, stringing her bow at the sight of wings, arrow drawn back to her chin, but the feathered monster moves with extraordinary speed. It fills her vision, already too close to shoot, just two arm-lengths away.

“Sothis, I need you!” Byleth reaches for the pulsing energy held between them. She feels Sothis respond, drawing close, time beginning to— 

With a wet snap, the monster careens off its flight path, pierced by an incredible force. The bird slams against the ground nearly twenty feet away, a silver lance protruding from its chest, pinning it to the dust. 

Byleth turns back toward the bridge. Dimitri stands with his eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched, moonlight edging his form in silver. 

“Professor,” he says, breathing hard, and Byleth feels raw at the sound.

Behind her, the monster bird thrashes frantically, straining against the weight of the lance, beak snapping open and shut. A cry leeches from its throat—a wild, keening plea which echoes from the canyon walls.

Dimitri walks straight for Byleth, gaze dark. “You aren’t here to hunt for pleasure, I would hope.”

She wishes she could say something. Her brain circles helplessly around the phrase _ excellent throw, excellent throw, excellent throw. _

He continues to stalk forward, and for a moment, she fears he aims to strike her. No such movement comes; the young prince walks past, heading for the squawking beast. 

He pants a foot on the monster’s massive, feathered chest, then grips his lance with both hands, face contorting, and twists it deeper into the flesh. With a final twitch, the body stills. 

“If there are any more of these creatures, they will have heard this one,” he says, wrenching his weapon from between the bones. Blood slings across the grass. “I’m troubled that it survived such a blow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Byleth blinks, bow held limply at her side, and Dimitri frowns. 

“You are not... injured, are you?” he asks.

Finally, her voice comes. “No. No injuries.” 

“Are you quite certain?”

She clears her throat, sliding her bow back onto her shoulder, and gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

“Not hurt. A little embarrassed. Being saved from certain death by your own student does that,” she says, and smothers Sothis’s blip of irritation: _ we would’ve been perfectly fine! _

“Of course. Good, then. It is very good to see you… are… alive.” Dimitri finishes roughly, jaw clenched. He evades Byleth’s eyes, and plants the butt of his lance on the ground. His voice drops. “I had a strange feeling when you left earlier. Forgive my impertinence—I feared the worst.”

His demeanor drives a bittersweet feeling into Byleth’s throat. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says simply.

As if in response, tri-toned, guttural howls drip from the high canyon walls, and a moment later, down the beasts come: wolves from the ridge, fur crisped with dry blood, picking their way down the segmented rock. 

Five, six, seven wolves, slink from ledge to ledge. Their barrel-sized paws slide on the crumbling stones. Beside her, Dimitri mutters something she can’t hear. 

“Listen to me.” Byleth hardly recognizes the strength of her own voice. She pulls her shortsword from its sheath, pivoting until she feels the brush of his back against hers. “Stay right here. And don’t fixate on a specific one when they surround us. Try to catch them in the belly when they jump.”

“Yes, Professor,” Dimitri says, sounding too much like a child.

As the wolves draw close, they fan out into a dark circle of eyes and teeth. Each stands at twice a man’s height, mouth pulled into a terrible snarl. Dread sinks deep into Byleth’s stomach; killing even one would be a fearsome trophy by itself. 

Still, her vision sharpens. Time seems to slow, her thoughts settling into a familiar din of violent patience. She watches the movement of each pacing wolf within her sight, and centers herself on the even breath of the boy behind her. She imagines the closest beast jumping, imagines driving her sword through its ribs. 

“For both of our sake's, don’t hesitate,” she says. 

Dimitri laughs harshly. “I have no hesitation about killing monsters,” he says. 

With that, Byleth’s mind slips into a final state of thoughtlessness, red pulsing in her peripherals. 

Movement from the side. Dimitri shifts away, tensing, and catches the sudden blow on his lance, the shrill squeal of teeth on metal piercing Byleth’s skull. He growls, pressing against the immense weight of the beast’s snapping jaws. His feet slide on the stones. 

In a blur of fur, a second wolf leaps forward, straight for Byleth, claws outstretched. She dips, dodging to the side, and rises to strike back, cutting the thick tendons at its shoulder. The beast reels back, and Byleth follows the movement, plunging her blade deep into its neck.

Behind her, Dimitri cries out, and her focus splinters. Byleth turns. 

A huge, bleeding gouge scores the middle of Dimitri’s chestplate. The prince clutches at the wound, and the monster wolf leers over him, jaws dripping. It leans down, and Dimitri swings his lance in a wild, reckless arc. The wolf prances easily away, toying. 

Byleth’s blood runs cold. 

“Take us back.”

The wolf leaps forward.

_ I know. _

Purple light freezes the world in place. Sothis’s will and her own thread together, their energy intertwining. Around her, she sees time reverse—the wolf steps back, and Dimtri’s blood flows back into his chest. Byleth feels a nauseating wave of tiredness as the moment releases, sending the Divine Pulse spiraling into reality.

_ Let’s try this again, shall we? _

Movement from the side. Dimitri shifts away to catch the wolf’s blow, but now Byleth moves with him; when its teeth catch on his lance, she’s there, slicing at the beast’s exposed belly. Whimpering, it scampers away. 

She turns to dodge the other monster’s advancing blow, and now Dimitri turns as well, embedding his lance deep in its neck. It makes a sick gurgling noise, and retreats.

“Yes, like that,” she says, panting. Their elbows bump. “Help each other. I’ll dodge them. You fight.” 

Dimitri down at her, over his shoulder. His eyes are an odd mix of things. 

Four times, Sothis and Byleth rewrite fate: once, bringing Dimitri back from the dead; three times, stopping a mortal blow from reaching Byleth.

_ No more _ , Sothis says, exhausted. A single wolf stands across from Dimitri and Byleth, injured and enraged. _ No more. _ Dimitri’s gauntlets are stained with gore, and he blinks heavily. Blood drips from his right leg, speckling the cobblestone. Byleth aches from the strain of weaving Divine Pulses—a bone-deep exhaustion that makes her hands tremble. 

Dimitri steps forward, and his knee nearly buckles. He grimaces, teeth bared. The monster snarls, spittle flinging from its jaws. 

“Let me. Dimitri.” Byleth can barely form the words. She puts a hand to his shoulder, and he flinches. She pulls away. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to recognize her face. “I’m the Professor. Let me.” 

From the bridge behind, a loud cluster of voices drifts in on the wind.

“Hey! Your Highness! Professor!” 

Beside her, Dimitri stares at the wolf, unaffected by the voice. 

Byleth turns, seeing as though through a haze, as her seven students run toward the bridge, weapons at the ready, headed by Annette. Byleth knows she should feel something at the sight, but doesn’t. Exhaustion pulls her toward the earth, and she barely manages to resist.

Dimitri’s lance soars past her head, and again, it sinks cleanly into its target. She hears the prince struggle for breath, hunched over, a dark expression on his face. 

“You’ll never guess what we just fought! A huge, huge monster!” Annette hollers, still several hundred feet away. “It was coming from the entrance!” 

The prince limps toward the carcass. He presses his foot onto the wolf’s skull. Byleth, even from where she stands, can hear the snap of bone. When he tries to wrench his lance from its chest, the weapon doesn’t budge.

“There were giant birds, too! One flew away!” 

Byleth, struggling to register the entirety of Annette’s previous statements, feels a tingling foreboding begin to spread across her back. She takes her eyes from Dimitri, and looks back at her students. Byleth feels the crushing weight of everything: the battle, the Divine Pulses, the responsibility for her students’ fates. 

And for the second time that night, she hears the sound of wings.

"The bird… Where did the bird…” 

A shadow appears on the ground beneath Dimitri, four times larger than his own. Clamor erupts from the bridge.

“What are you doing? Stop staring and shoot it down! Now, Ashe!” Felix yells. 

Byleth sees Dimitri across the way, standing beside the wolf, looking vacantly at the blackened ground. His hair whirls around his face, battered by the wind. 

Somewhere, Ashe’s voice rises in terror. “I—I can’t! I can’t shoot so far, not accurately! I might hit one of them!”

“Ashe, you coward!” 

A burst of green light slices high above Dimitri’s head, throwing the monster bird into even sharper detail. Obsidian talons, poised to strike. 

“Felix, I hit it, but it’s still—” The rushing wind grows louder, blotting out Annette’s words.

_ Don’t, Byleth! Don’t! _

But Byleth has already moved. With three bounds, she reaches Dimitri and puts her palms against his chest, shoving him to the ground. The prince looks up at her, bleary-eyed, as though waking from a dream. In that instant, a massive _ something _ pierces her from behind. 

Blood spills warm across her midsection—distantly, Byleth feels the pain of it rip through her link to Sothis, shattering and tearing, like a crack across a frozen lake. She makes a sound as the claw lurches from her back.

The world careens, rushing up to meet her. The sound of a sword cutting through flesh. She leans against someone’s shoulder. Warm. Faces surrounding. “S’fine,” she says, tongue thick. Nothing feels like anything. Tears well in her eyes, and she doesn’t know why.

Her vision blurs and blackens.

A scream fills her head. 

Energy explodes through Byleth in an agonized, twisted stream. Jagged reds and blacks and purples reverse the scene before her, slowly unwinding the seconds, like fingers pried back from a ledge. In reverse, Byleth watches the bird’s talons taken from her stomach, watches her skin knit together. 

Time shifts once more, pulled with a brutal, manic force, and suddenly Byleth is seeing Dimitri from across the way. He stands next to the wolf’s carcass, staring at the shadow growing beneath him.

The moment unfreezes. Byleth, haggard with the strange feeling, crumples to the ground. 

Dimitri falls, too. The huge bird perches on the prince’s chest, talons sinking victoriously into his armor. Immediately, several arrows find the monster’s head, one after another. It falls sideways into the dust.

“Dimitri?” Sylvain is the first to reach him. He kneels, shaking his arm. “Your Highness. Hey, Dimitri.”

The prince makes a small sound, the barest of groans, and Mercedes rushes forward, putting her hands above his chest. White magic flows into him, and Ingrid lets out a choked sob, hiding her face behind Felix’s shoulder. The dark-haired boy watches Dimitri’s form, face expressionless.

When Sothis’s voice comes, it’s monotone and numb. _ That power rushed out on its own. I did not command it. _

A fury rises in Byleth’s chest, overwhelming her tiredness. The cobblestone sits coldly against her cheek. “I know… why you... did it,” she manages to whisper. “Selfish.” The word is like poison.

_ I did not command it. I wasn’t trying to. Believe me. _

Byleth throws a mental wall between them, shutting out the girl’s earnest sadness and guilt, and she feels Sothis’s presence withdraw to some far corner of her head. The loneliness hits Byleth hard, covering her in a fresh wave of exhaustion. 

As she drifts into unconsciousness, the last thing she sees is Mercedes; the girl’s worried expression is illuminated by the steady, comforting glow of her hands. 

Beneath her, Dimitri’s eyes are closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sothis. Hurts to write some of that. 
> 
> Although this chapter focused mainly on Dimitri and Byleth, the larger group /will/ be back in the next chapter (Claude, too). There are a lot of feelings for Byleth work through in the next one. 
> 
> Also, I really felt like the game robbed Sothis of importance by putting her paralogue off until a later month, so here, these events are happening in the 7th month (just to give you a rough sense of time).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You keep this project going forward in the best of ways :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, anyone remember where we left off last time? Something about a giant bird monster... Dimitri getting impaled... Byleth nearly dying... sounds right. We're back, now.

It's raining outside.

Byleth wakes on her side, eyelids cracked just enough to see the raindrop-bubbled window past the curl of her bandaged fingers. Cloudy light streams through the large pane, casting a crisp white square on the floorboards.

This is not her room. The realization comes sleepily, without any particular feeling. This is not her room, and the bed is much larger than her own, with four gleaming bedposts and at least three layers of dark purple silk sheets. An empty fireplace sits coldly against the wall beside her, surrounded by bookcases.

Byleth presses deeper into the large pillow, cheek against the cotton.

“Sothis?” she mumbles, and flinches awake at her own voice. 

The name had slipped out, but of course she doesn’t see the other girl hovering beside the bed, or across the room, or by the fireplace; she can’t feel her at all. Whatever part of her head that Sothis had retreated to after the battle, it’s hidden well enough away that Byleth can’t follow.

_ You’re running away, then? Sothis? _ She hurls the thought deep into her own mind, both pleading and accusatory. _ Coward. _ The deadly image of an unmoving Dimitri crawls into her head, weapon-like. _ You hurt him. _

Byleth hears nothing in response except the fury beating beneath her skin. The emotion morphs and deepens, unfurling like clouds. 

In all her time as a mercenary, Byleth had never been held at the mercy of her feelings. Each sentiment had risen distantly, as through a hazy glass, and was always, _ always _ matched in greater strength by the press of her reason. 

From Jeralt she learned that anything could be used as a weapon on the battlefield: your appearance, the enemy’s fear, even the coarse edge of your speech. So she had taken her frigidity and she had used it; she became the Ashen Demon—an easy, methodical killer.

But now, the monastery had planted some strange, new _ something _ in Byleth’s chest—a new type of feeling which could not be pressed back as usual, but demanded attention, expression, surrender. 

The thought makes her nauseous. 

Outside, the rain grows in volume, lashing the stones. Byleth watches the raindrops gobbling each other on the window for a moment longer, centering herself, then hooks her hand carefully under the many layers of silk sheets and peels them up from her chest. 

“What...”

Byleth’s usual armor, gauntlets, and tights are gone. Someone has dressed her in a light, cream-colored dress, wide across her collarbones and cinched beneath her chest, falling in swooping folds down to her bare feet. Banadages ring her left leg, out of place amongst the ridiculously elegant fabric. 

Byleth’s jaw clenches. The sight of the injuries makes her think too much. She is back to the edge of remembering. Red Canyon. Bloodied talons. _ Dimitri _. She lets the sheets drop, alarmed to feel the burn of half-formed tears. 

For a moment, the rain lessens, and an unusual stillness settles over the room. 

She hears something. 

A second set of ragged breaths. 

The faint groans rise from the foot of her bed, nearly drowned by the downpour—raw, shuddering sounds, like the person’s throat has been crushed partway. 

Byleth pauses for a moment, then tugs her sheets aside with a teeth-gritting heave. The dress tangles around her legs as she pulls free and falls forward onto the bed, her elbows pressed to the linen. Her ribs spike with pain. She growls, kicks at the fabric. 

She peers over the edge, and recognizes the blue quilt first. 

It spills from the sleeping figure’s bandaged chest, down the side of the chaise and onto the floor, as though thrown off by restless movement. Byleth tenses, her knuckles whitening around the bedpost. Guilt and pity swell large in her throat—an unfurling cloud. 

Dimitri is alive. 

He lays with his head against the armrest, his skin flushed, lips parted and dry, one side of his face etched in the window’s clear light. A pink stain, darkening to deep red at its center, covers the bandages wrapped tight across his stomach. The monster bird’s wound. 

Byleth bows her head, and resignation settles in like the weight of a beast across her back. 

_ But he’s alive. _

How is he alive?

_ We killed him. _

He’s right here. 

The voice is half hers, half not, and Byleth doesn’t bother to sort out the difference.

She looks up and takes in everything about him in parts. Bruised cheekbone. Split lower lip. Gouged shoulder. Ruptured midsection. It’s too much to see at once. She can feel the warm, feverish heat rising from Dimitri’s stomach. Too deep. Ruptured completely. Even with her eyes fixed pointedly on one small cut streaking his inner forearm, Byleth feels sick with guilt. 

If she had seen one of her soldiers bearing wounds like these in the field, she would’ve left him behind to die. 

The young prince moves, hand clutching at his stomach.

“Not… yet…” Dimitri says. He pulls at the bandages. “Please. Need... more time. Please—_ ” _

Byleth's fingers twitch. She feels as though she should reach down and pry his hand away with her own, should wake him, but something about the distance between them feels vast, deepened by the sound of rain. 

“I can’t breathe… I can’t—_ I can’t breathe— _” 

Dimitri surges upward with the last desperate word, gasping, arms locked to the seat beneath him. He hangs his head, chest heaving, hair falling to shroud his eyes. Each breath trembles at the end, catches wetly somewhere in his lungs.

Byleth is still. Dimitri’s movements seem very far away, as though she’s watching him through a marbled glass. Her mind registers the thought that she is not dressed comfortably enough to preserve her professionalism in this situation. She is in a bed chamber. Alone. With him. 

Dimitri’s eyes flick sideways, locking onto her. 

Whatever dream still fades in his head, Byleth can see the lingering darkness of it in his gaze. He seems unsurprised at the sight of her; if anything, the strange expression seems to grip him even tighter—a lifeless, tired sadness that she has seen before, but only from afar. She is pinned in place by its weight.

"Professor?” His voice comes slowly, deepened by sleep. “Are you...?" 

He reaches up, trance-like, to trap her wrist with warm fingers. 

Byleth freezes, distinctly aware of the heat of his skin burning against her arm, against her pulse beneath. Her mind flattens. She is not often touched kindly by another human.

For a moment, Dimitri stares at the point of contact. His fingers flex, tighten. His brow furrows, then: "Oh. _ Oh. _" Blood rises to his face, slowly blooming pink. “You’re...” 

The young prince snatches his hand back, elbow reeling to crack against the armrest’s wooden base. Byleth sees small fragments of the frame break off and fall to the floor.

“My apologies, Professor,” Dimitri says. He doesn’t spare the furniture a glance. “I was not_ — _I was not in my right mind.” 

“Dimitri,” Byleth says. Her initial shock at his touch has begun to crumble at the edges, but her mind is muddy, slowed. “You were dreaming, weren’t you? You thought you were still dreaming?”

“I don’t—” He grips his hand, face flushed with fever and embarrassment, gaze fixed somewhere far to the right. 

“You were crying out in pain. I heard you.” She says the words slowly. Her fingernails dig sharp crescents into her palms. “You said you wanted _ more time _.”

Dimitri won’t look away from the wall, jaw clenched. 

“What were you dreaming about?” she asks. 

He turns to face her, eyes very blue even in the half-light. Byleth leans back reflexively, slowly doubling the space between them. His expression burns with an intensity that she can’t read, but Byleth feels certain that the moment has become fragile, that they are perched on the edge of something important.

“Dimitri?” she asks. Her voice softens. “What were you dreaming about?”

Dimitri’s breath shakes unevenly, but he doesn’t look away. His head tips up, just slightly, to account for the difference in height between bed and chaise. Byleth imagines that she can see a glint of fear tangled within his indecision and wonders at its cause. She wants to split the meaning open, lay it bare. 

The room presses inward around them, dark at the edges and soft with the sound of rain.

The young prince half-smiles. “You always look at others as though you already know what they are going to say,” he says. “It feels redundant to confess anything out loud. You look right through me.” 

Something akin to anxiety stirs in her stomach, leeching the breath from her throat. 

Dimitri sighs. He slides the heel of his palm across the cushion beneath him, leaning forward. 

Byleth sits still, fighting the impulse to shatter the young prince’s concentration with a facetious joke, an asinine remark. He is about to tell her, _ he will _, she can read it in his expression—

The door across the chamber opens, and Dimitri jolts back, pressing against the chaise’s far corner. Two animated voices ring into the chamber, followed by a third.

“_ Sylvain _—”

“But she can’t blame Dimitri, we were the ones who decided to follow him in the first place—“

“I know, but don’t _ yell _—

“Please lower your voices. Both of you.”

Lady Rhea moves into the room, white robe brushing the floorboards. Sylvain and Ashe follow in her wake, both visibly upset. When Ashe catches sight of Dimitri, he gasps, pulling on Sylvain’s rolled-up sleeve. 

“He’s alive!”

Byleth registers the exact moment when Sylvain's gaze drifts over Rhea’s back and clicks into place upon Dimitri, upon her revealing outfit, the bed, the space. His face shifts into a slow, sharp grin. 

Byleth glares at him. 

“Lady Rhea,” Dimitri says. He inclines his head toward her and winces with the movement, hand settling on his bandaged stomach. His voice is rough, jagged with pain, but Byleth can hear him straining toward a normal tone. “I’m… sorry to intrude upon your kindness. For you to house us both in your own chambers—it’s too much.”

Oh. That would explain the room’s extravagance. 

Ashe and Sylvain linger across the room, while Rhea moves beyond Dimitri, silent, bending at Byleth’s bedside, strands of hair falling free from her circlet.

"Do you have what you need?" she asks softly. Rhea's voice has music in it, like always, and Byleth feels small under the strength of her gaze, fixed solely upon her. Like always, she can’t shake the sense that any response she gives Lady Rhea will sound comparatively brutish.

“Yes. Uh. Thank you. ” 

“I am glad to hear it.” She looks down and takes Byleth’s peach-colored sleeve idly between her fingers, white light streaming from the window beside her. “This dress was a favorite of mine, once, you know.”

Byleth watches Rhea closely, body tense. The woman seems lost in thought, eyes hooded with a mixture of love and sadness, fabric between her fingers. In the back of Byleth’s head, something shifts, pulling quickly forward, like a bubble rising to the surface of a lake. Another presence. _ Sothis _.

"Well,” Sylvain interrupts. 

Sothis disappears into the back of her head, and Byleth pulls her sleeve away from Rhea, turning toward the red-haired boy. 

“You all seem cozy, and I’d hate to ruin the atmosphere, so Ashe and I should—we’d best return to our studies.” He backs up toward the door, slowly, and his unbuttoned uniform vest flutters as he goes. “Dimitri, glad you didn’t die.” He hovers in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. “Professor, you look amazing. Rhea—”

“_ Sylvain _,” Lady Rhea says, steel slipping into her voice. “We still have certain matters to discuss. You and Ashe both followed young Dimitri into the Red Canyon, did you not?”

The boy laughs, and Byleth recognizes the breathless sound from the dining hall, from whenever Sylvain is backed into a corner by a group of rather unhappy female students. 

“You say that like His Royal Highness forced us to come, or something. I assure you, he’s always one to ask consent—”

Rhea straightens, rising up to loom beside the bed. “Although I’m displeased with you and Ashe, Dimitri’s decision to place not only himself, but the _ entire _ Blue Lions house in danger was a horrifying lapse of judgment,” she says.

Dimitri’s expression is startlingly vacant, his head lowered in resignation. 

“Seteth and I are still deliberating about a suitable punishment for him, but know that it will be _ severe. _

Byleth feels numb. The blame should fall upon her, clearly. Her students had saved her life. _ Dimitri _ had saved her life. She had run into the monster-ridden wastes in the middle of the night, _ alone _, without a plan, and expected no consequences. 

Byleth twists the sheets in her hand, breathing hard, mustering the courage to speak, and failing. Damn it all, why is this so difficult?

“It was—it was my idea, Lady Rhea.” Ashe suddenly pipes up, fists curled at his sides, eyes pinched shut. “I convinced Dimitri and everyone else to follow the Professor into the canyon. It was me.” 

The words hang in the air. Outside, the rain goes quiet against the monastery stones. Dimitri doesn’t move, but a small smile drifts across his face, settling just in the corner of his mouth.

“Ashe,” he says. “Don’t lie for my sake.” His eyes angle toward Byleth, piercing from beneath his platinum-blond hair. Then he looks away. “Whatever the punishment may be, I stand by my choice. Should I go back to that night again, I would not have chosen differently.”

Byleth stares. The strange mix between Dimitri’s formality and straightforwardness sends a bolt of heat through her chest.

“While I… do regret the danger that the Blue Lions faced, I believe we made the correct decision,” he says. He bows his head. “I’m sorry if that displeases you, Lady Rhea.”

For a moment, Rhea is silent, her mouth pressed into a hard line, chin tipped up slightly. She approaches Dimitri’s side, and Dimitri shifts away, one arm braced against the chaise’s backrest. The two hold each other’s gaze, tension thick in the air.

“I had hoped for repentance at the least,” Rhea says. She stretches one hand over his torso. 

Light fractals outward, unwinding into a glyph-covered circle. Dimitri lets out a noise, and his eyes flicker shut. The smallest cuts and bruises fade from his skin, and tiny particles of light rise from the bandages around his stomach. Lady Rhea withdraws her hand.

“That is all I will supply today. You will need to sleep soon, when the fever returns.” She looks to Byleth. “Please remain in these quarters until the next morning—your wounds will be well-healed. I do not want the other Houses to see the extent of your injuries. It will upset them.”

From across the room, Sylvain scoffs. He has moved just inside the door, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Of course you’re worried about _ that _. Even though Dimitri and the Professor are bleeding out on your sheets.”

“You can’t speak to her that way,” Ashe whispers, much too loud. 

Rhea’s face is unreadable. She stands with her hands folded, the long sleeves of her white robe overlapping. Byleth worries, briefly, that the woman will snap at the red-haired boy. But without a word, she glides past him. Her footsteps fade down the corridor.

Sylvain shuts the door with more force than necessary. “See you,” he scoffs. He relaxes against the door. “She took us out of class, didn’t tell us where we were going. M’glad to see both of you are doing okay.” His voice softens at the end, eyes falling on the prince. “Dimitri, we didn't know whether you were… you know."

He looks away and puts a hand to the back of his head. “Yeah.” The boy's nonchalance seems forced. 

Meanwhile, Ashe shifts closer, the hood of his navy blue sweatshirt peeking over the collar of his uniform vest. He stands awkwardly at Dimitri’s side.

“Um, can I…?” He gestures at the quilt, half-fallen from Dimitri’s legs. “If it’s alright with you, that is.”

Byleth hides a smile. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Ashe to offer Dimitri favors during class in the form of a procured quill and ink bottle, a quick recovery of Dimitri’s dropped book, or a polite readjustment of Dimitri’s chair before he sat. Dimitri, pink-faced, always attempted to dissuade the boy, telling him that such things weren’t necessary, but Ashe was insistent; he was far more stubborn than his soft-spoken demeanor suggested. Even Dedue’s unhappy stare and comments about how “His Highness had all the help he needed” weren’t enough of a threat.

Dimitri sighs. “Do as you wish, Ashe. I can’t very well stop you.” He reclines against the backrest.

The boy brightens. He picks the quilt from the floor, deftly straightening the edges. The quilt settles over the prince’s legs, stopping just below his bandaged stomach. 

“We, um.” Ashe swallows, still fixing the quilt’s lower half. “We didn’t expect you to be here—together,” he says. “We thought Rhea would definitely have brought you back to your room, Professor. After the battle.” 

He blinks over at Byleth, the picture of innocence.

“I think there are other rooms available in the monastery, aren’t there?”

Sylvain barks a laugh.

Byleth opens her mouth, closes it. Goddess, why should she feel defensive? She shouldn’t, but she _ does _, a knot of stubborn annoyance settling hard in her stomach.

“I’m not sure, Ashe," she rambles, hoping her mouth will save her, "There certainly are a number of empty rooms in the monastery that I know of. Perhaps Lady Rhea wanted to look after me herself, and then, by placing Dimitri… here…” 

She looks over at the reclining prince. His large frame scarcely fits on the chaise, one arm still bent over the backrest. His eyes are half-lidded, like he’s struggling to stay awake, and his cheeks are flushed again.

“Er…" Byleth's mind blanks. "Er…. She… hoped to keep an eye on… both of us?”

Ashe _ hmm _'s, then bends down to Dimitri's ear, cupping one hand around his mouth, but whispering too loudly nonetheless:

“Your Highness, did you happen to tell Lady Rhea about your and Sylvain’s—“

“Ashe, _ no _,” Dimitri mumbles, his slowed tongue making the words come out thick. "Don't." 

Byleth narrows her eyes. “What?” She lets her face harden into the piercing, critical guise of the Professor. “Dimitri and Sylvain have done what?”

The gray-haired boy swallows and glances down at Dimitri, who manages to look both delirious and threatening at once. She knows Ashe can’t stand the force of her expression for long.

“Um, n-nothing, Professor,” he says. He puts a hand to the back of his head. “Just a silly thought. Sylvain was, um...” 

Sylvain slips between Dimitri and Ashe, gently pulls the prince’s hand from Ashe’s shoulder, and takes Ashe by the elbow. He smiles at Byleth. “I think he’s a little confused.” 

The smaller boy stammers something, but Sylvain leads him away from the bed, one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. 

“Best if we head out, give you some privacy. Looks like His Highness can’t hold on much longer,” Sylain says. 

Byleth can see the soft bewilderment on Dimitri’s face as he watches the two of them standing beside the door. The fever seems to have taken hold. “You’re… leaving?” With some effort, he props himself up on his elbows, blinking blearily, quilt slipping down his chest. “What about… the others?”

Sylvain grins. “As soon as I get back to the dorms, I’m telling _ everyone _ where you are. And that you’re alive. I’m sure they’ll will want to visit.”

Byleth can’t help but wonder whether Sylvain’s idea of “everyone” includes the entire school, or just the Blue Lions. Either way, Dimitri seems content. He shuts his eyes.

Sylvain cracks the door and ushers Ashe ahead of him. 

“Don’t get into any trouble you two, okay?” he says. He gives Byleth a wink. “Not in Rhea’s room, at least.”

Before Byleth can protest, he pulls the door shut behind him. 

A beam of sunlight pierces through the window, spreading onto the floor, and the room is silent. The rainstorm must have passed. Byleth falls back onto the nest of pillows behind her, one arm outstretched, one across her forehead. She sighs. 

The conversation had taken her mind off her body’s state, but now she feels it all coming back—the hot burn of cuts along her legs, the bruised ribs, the aching head. 

Deep breathing, still slightly ragged, comes from the foot of the bed. Dimitri must’ve finally found his way back to sleep. Whatever Rhea’s reason for placing them here together, even just listening to Dimitri breathe helped stave off her worst imaginings.

_ He’ll be fine, you know. _

Byleth sits up. Sothis is there, floating above Dimitri, arms crossed, looking intently down at his face. A small sound escapes Byleth’s throat, a cry of disbelief.

Sothis frowns. _ He’s sleeping, you fool! Be polite! _

Relief, more than anything, pulls to the surface. Byleth wonders if Sothis can feel it through their link. “Sothis—”

_ What did I say? _ The green-haired girl drifts away from Dimitri, toward Byleth, above the purple sheets. _ Be polite. He’s finally alseep. He needs to heal. _

Byleth searches for words to ease the bundle of emotions in her chest. She’s never had to make up with someone after an argument, not as a mercenary, not in Jeralt’s thick-skinned company. How do you begin?

_ Stop your staring, _ Sothis says. She crosses her arms. _ You need sleep as well. Come on. Get. _

Despite herself, Byleth smiles. The girl’s barbed tongue is strangely comforting. 

Sothis’s happiness twists through her as she leans back into the pillows, doubled upon Byleth’s own. She pulls the heavy sheets up to her chin.

“I know that came from you,” she whispers. "Sothis." She shuts her eyes.

The sunlight turns the inside of her eyelids a soft pink, and she can hear Dimitri's breath from the foot of the bed, rising and falling. Sleep would not be hard to find, for now.

_ Perhaps. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I missed these two (well three, technically). Claude's going to swing by next chapter, cause shenanigans, and Byleth bout to have a chat with him out on the 3rd floor balcony... Anyone else a sucker for nightmare-based angst?
> 
> Glad to be back, thanks for reading :)


End file.
